


quicken

by gothyringwald



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Drinking, First Time, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Illnesses, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 01:29:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11772648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: Credence is twenty one and he's dying. It isn't fair, he doesn't want to die. Especially not on the grimy New York streets, cold and alone. Graves is 540 and seeking a companion to roam the night with him. When he sees Credence, he is certain he has found the one he has been looking for.





	quicken

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [graves_expectations](http://archiveofourown.org/users/graves_expectations/pseuds/graves_expectations) for looking this over for me when I wasn't sure and for your encouragement and suggestions! ♡♡♡
> 
> A few songs I listened to while writing, you may want to listen to as well: [The Killing Moon by Nouvelle Vague](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9jCwA8mW_E), [Nocturnal Me by Echo and the Bunnymen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZFScP4B4Q4), [Teeth Only for You by Say Hi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRIfwfvVAF4) (OK, I actually had a whole playlist, but I'll leave it at that)

> “ _Devour me. Deform me to your likeness, so that no one after you will ever again understand the reason for so much desire. We’ll be alone, my love. Night will never end. The day will never dawn again on anyone. Never again. At last._ ”  
>  \- Hiroshima Mon Amour

Graves watches the boy for three weeks before he's certain. He's a man, really, at least by human standards. But to Graves he's as young as every other human on the planet. Their lifespans barely a moment in the ages he has seen come and go.

It doesn't matter. He will be neither man, nor boy, much longer if he says yes.

__

Credence has been in New York for three weeks when he sees the man. At first, he thinks he might have been sent by Ma, come to whisk him back home, but then realises that's a ridiculous notion. It's not reuniting him with his erstwhile mother that the man desires, Credence can tell, despite his inexperience.

This man with his sweeping black coat, dark glinting eyes and pale skin, is hungry as he approaches Credence in the alley where he is huddled, sheltering from the rain. His movements are sleek, purposeful. His coat catches in a bitter wind, but he doesn't shiver. Credence does, though, as the man steps into his personal space. He looks at him, properly, and thinks he would happily sate this man's desire.

Credence could have spent the night with any number of men, these past weeks, kept himself warm with their kisses and honeyed words. He's seen them looking his way, not only with pity or wariness. But with the same hunger he sees, now, in this man. It's been heady, but he's kept his distance. Sickly as he is, feverish, and weak, he couldn't entertain the idea of these men taking their pleasure from him, let alone their hands, mouths, touching him for his own. But this man. This man, Credence _wants_ , in a way he had never wanted, even before he fell ill. And the man is handsome, besides – why not wring what little pleasure from life he can, before the end.

'You're cold,' is the first thing the man says to him. His voice is low, smooth, sends another shiver through Credence that has nothing to do with the chill seeping through his threadbare coat, into his bones, his scarred lungs.

Credence nods.

Two hands take his own, which are wan and thin. The man isn't warm. His hands are colder even than Credence's – he hadn't thought it possible to be colder, unless you were a corpse – and there is a strange glint in his eyes. The way they catch the light isn't quite right. But Credence is as intrigued as he is tired. His chest rattles with every breath, which comes quicker the closer the man gets. There is the incessant need to cough, which he tries to suppress for fear of the blood that comes. The cold air aches in his lungs, even as he inhales the potent scent of the man. So when he asks, 'Will you come with me?', Credence says 'yes'.

__

Graves had been drawn to the boy from the first moment he saw him. He has seen great beauty in his long life, many a pretty face has turned his head. He can't say the boy is more beautiful or prettier than any he's seen or had before. But something in him is what Graves has been looking for. He had never quite believed in love at first sight. And, still, he isn't certain that it exists but this boy, oh, he could make him believe in it.

He had parted ways with his last companion two hundred years ago. Two hundred years of solitude and Graves is ready, again, to share the night with someone else. He wavers, though, in his offering. To take one so young, to banish him to a nocturnal life when there is much, yet, of the day to see – would it be right, he wonders. Right. As though right had stopped him, before. And he's at least twenty. To be twenty forever...would that be so bad?

When he catches the scent of decay, of impending death, on the boy, his resolve strengthens.

__

The man, Percival Graves, has a suite at The Plaza. Credence worries about his shabby appearance in the opulent lobby, tugging at his jacket, despairing at his scuffed shoes. And what will the concierge think, besides, about Mr Graves taking him up to his room. But the concierge, the other guests, barely seem to notice he is there, besides the elegant, older man, as he's ushered into the elevator. It's like Credence is invisible, something he is used to, but in a place like this, he should stick out, be noticed for a change.

Mr Graves keeps Credence close to him the entire elevator ride, and as they step over the threshold into his suite. The room is like nothing Credence has ever seen. Twinkling crystal, plush furniture, Persian rugs on the shining floor. Dark wood and soft light. It's as sumptuous as the veritable feast laid out on the mahogany table. And, though the illness has stolen his appetite, Credence's stomach rumbles as he eyes the food.

'Eat,' says Mr Graves, waving a hand at the table.

Credence approaches it, eyes roaming over the feast before him. Where to start? Bread seems safe, for now. He's not sure what his stomach can handle.

'Aren't you going to eat?' Credence asks as he nervously nibbles a piece of bread slathered with butter.

Mr Graves looks him up and down from where he's reclining on a plush sofa. He looks like one of the movie stars Credence had seen when he would sneak into the pictures, sometimes. 'I'll eat later.'

'OK,' says Credence, uncertain. The way the man is looking at him makes him flush, makes Credence wonder if he, himself, is on the menu. That thought sets something hot coiling through his insides and he has to look away, again.

'Come, sit,' Mr Graves says, patting the space beside him and so Credence piles some food onto a plate and sits next to him. He sits close but on the edge, while Mr Graves lounges back, relaxed.

Credence can feel the man's eyes on him, hot and heavy, the whole time. It's not unpleasant. He thinks about his hands, his mouth on him, instead, wonders if they would feel just as exhilarating as his gaze.

All in a rush, Credence says, 'I've never done this before.'

'Hm?'

Credence sets the plate on the coffee table before him, with a clink. 'Come to someone's room, um...' he trails off, face hot.

'You may have to elaborate, Credence.' Mr Graves looks at him, kindly. 'If you wish.'

'I mean, don't you want to...' Credence trails off, again, looking toward the bedroom. 'Isn't that why you brought me here?'

'Not if you don't want to.' Mr Graves sighs, leans a little closer. 'I just wanted a companion for the night. In whatever capacity you wish to interpret that.' He runs a thumb over his cheek. 'And you looked...cold. I thought a warm comfortable bed would do you some good. You don't have to share it with me.'

'Oh,' says Credence, frowning. Disappointment settles in his stomach. Perhaps Mr Graves was only being kind, didn't want Credence, after all. 'Well, I...'

'What do you want, Credence?'

Credence looks at the man's thin mouth and he licks his own lips. Mr Graves's hands come up to frame his face and that look is back, that hunger. Credence is certain, now, he wasn't mistaken in the alley. His head feels like it's stuffed with gauze. He's not sure if it's the consumption or the man's touch. Perhaps both. 'I want to be kissed,' he breathes.

__

It had surprised Graves, how willingly Credence had come with him. It wasn't his powers, he hadn't needed to use them, wouldn't have used them, not on this boy. For merely a feed, yes, he would use the sway he had, make it gentler on his victims. But, for this, he needed Credence to come of his own volition. And, oh, how he did. How he practically swoons in Graves's arms as they kiss. Slow and long and tender.

If Graves's heart beat within his chest, he knows it would be thundering, now.

He pulls away and brushes a hand over Credence's brow. He can tell the boy hasn't bathed in some time. See it, smell it. It doesn't bother Graves, but it can't be comfortable for Credence. 'Would you like to take a bath?' He asks.

Credence blinks up at him and then nods, slowly. Graves takes his hand and leads him to the bathroom.

__

Warm scented water laps around him, the steam filling and soothing his aching lungs. Mr Graves had run the bath for him, filling it with sweet scented oils, and then slipped out, leaving Credence to bathe. He took Credence's clothes with him, indicating silk pyjamas and a robe he could put on after, while Credence's soiled clothes were laundered.

The city hasn't been good for him. Smog in his lungs, the grime of the streets sitting heavily on his clammy skin. He feels it all wash away, now. With the water, with the memory of Mr Graves's touch.

Credence lies back, arms resting by his sides, letting the water work on his muscles and ponders Mr Graves. There is something otherworldly about him. It's not just his clothes but the way he moves, the cadence of his voice. Credence has never met anyone like him.

The door opens and Credence sits up, hunching over to hide himself. Mr Graves pokes his head around the door. 'Sorry to startle you.'

'It's OK,' says Credence, back already cooling where it's exposed to the air. Mr Graves's gaze runs over him. Emboldened, Credence straightens up, one hand curled over the rim of the tub. 'D-did you need something in here?'

Mr Graves slowly lifts his gaze to Credence's face. 'Just wanted to check if everything is well.'

Credence turns slightly, toward Mr Graves, and swallows thickly. 'Yes, thank-you'.

Mr Graves only smiles and, oh, how sharp and white his teeth look. Credence blinks and then Mr Graves is gone, door closed tight. A shiver runs through him. Not of dread but of anticipation and he sinks back into the water, a small smile on his own lips.

__

Credence steps out of the bathroom, the crimson silk pyjamas on him like a second skin, the robe like a warm hug. He tugs at the sleeve of the robe. The clothes are expensive, more expensive than anything he's ever touched let alone worn. Before the bath he would have balked at the idea of wearing them, but after soaking, cleaner than he's been in months, perhaps his whole life, he feels comfortable wearing them. Almost.

Mr Graves is waiting on the sofa, again, pouring something into two glasses. He picks one up and holds it out toward Credence. Credence shuffles forward and takes it, sniffing.

'Brandy,' says Mr Graves.

'Oh,' says Credence, wondering where he could have got the liquor and if he should drink it. But he's already here, already planning to break at least one law, so, why not, he thinks and sips. He's not sure he likes it, but it spreads like fire through him and that feels good.

Mr Graves smirks. 'Cognac, to be precise.' He stretches one arm along the back of the sofa, one knee crossed over the other, leaning back with his snifter of brandy. Credence sits beside him, closer than before, so that they are just touching. Mr Graves adds, in a conspiratorial tone, 'Smuggled in from France,' his breath tickling Credence's neck as he speaks.

Credence gulps his brandy but he swallows wrong, the liquid catching in his windpipe. The next moment he is coughing and he can't stop. Another attack. Not now, he thinks, desperately. There is blood in his mouth, a keen, lancing pain in his ribs, which seems to ease as Mr Graves lays a hand on his side. When he finishes coughing, Mr Graves is looking at him, brow furrowed. Credence can't tell if it's in irritation, or concern.

'I'm sorry, sir,' Credence says.

Mr Graves stays silent and holds out a hand, which Credence takes. He draws Credence to him on the sofa, winds one arm around his waist. His other hand grips Credence's chin, gently, like Credence is made of fine china. Mr Graves looks at his lips, his eyes shining. He can't mean to kiss him, can he, not with blood in his mouth?

'You can't want to...' Credence starts and then is cut off by the other man's mouth sealing over his. He thinks he may swoon as Mr Graves licks into his mouth, licking the blood away, trailing over his teeth, touching their tongues together.

'Don't,' says Credence when they part. His head is swimming, again, blood singing from the brandy, from the kiss. 'I'll make you ill. I'm sorry. I should have told you.'

Cool fingers brush over his brow. 'It's all right, Credence. I won't get ill. You won't make me ill.'

Credence doesn't know why but he believes him, and so he lets Mr Graves kiss him again. Lets himself be guided to the bed, settled upon silk sheets, sinking into a sea of pillows. So soft beneath his weary bones.

Mr Graves's body covers his, the weight of his form anchoring him. He lays kisses upon Credence's face, his neck, his chest, still clothed in silk. He pulls away. 'Do you want to sleep,' he says, one hand resting on Credence's shoulder, 'or do you want more?'

'More,' says Credence. 'Please, more.'

'As you wish,' says Mr Graves and kisses him, again.

__

'Is it meant to feel this good?' asks Credence with Percival – it's Percival now, like this – above him. Percival brushes back his hair from his clammy forehead, but he doesn't answer, only smiles as he moves within Credence. Credence bites his lip, eyes fluttering shut. The push and drag of Percival's cock, filling him, the slap of his hips against his thighs, his cool hands on his fevered skin. He didn't know he could feel such pleasure.

Without knowing why, Credence arches his neck, like some kind of offering. Percival's eyes darken, impossibly, and then he descends on Credence. There is a sharp sting, teeth sinking into his flesh and Credence feels lightheaded. But it's not like the consumption fever. This, Credence wants to cling to forever.

He winds his fingers in Percival's hair, holding him in place.

__

As his fangs pierce Credence's sweat slicked neck, blood blooms forth from the wound, filling his mouth. Hot and sweet. Even with the disease in him, Credence tastes good. Feels good. Graves's head swims with his teeth sunk into Credence's neck, his cock sunk deep within him. Graves suckles, drawing more blood, pulsing into his mouth in time with his thrusts, in time with the unsteady thrumming of Credence's heart. It beats a sickly rhythm, but there is life in him, yet. Graves won't take too much. Not now. And so he pulls away, laps at the wound, swallows the thick liquid, feeling it course through him.

He has to breathe in air that doesn't smell so much of Credence, to regain some control, before he dives back down, captures Credence's mouth. It already tasted of blood, from the coughing, but Graves's tongue is coated in it, now. Credence doesn't seem to mind, though. He moans into Graves's mouth. His eyes are cloudy, glassy, pale face flushed all over with pleasure.

Maybe Graves was wrong, maybe Credence is the most beautiful thing he's seen in five centuries.

__

'I can save you,' he says, 'let me save you.'

'How? Why?'

'You won't owe me anything. Won't have to stay with me.'

'Do you want me to?'

'Yes. More than anything.'

'Then I will. I will.' Stay, he thinks, let you save me, he thinks. And then a sharp thrust, a gasp and he can't think of anything else, neck arching, head sinking into the pillow beneath him.

__

Credence comes first, legs splayed, knees hooked over Percival's shoulders. A cool hand wrapped around his cock, hot voice low in his ear, whispering, 'Come for me, Credence.' It quakes through his whole body, leaves him trembling, gasping for air.

Percival comes not long after, mouth sealed over Credence's neck where there are two small, neat, puncture wounds. It is strange to feel the man pulsing within him, to think his withering body could bring pleasure to someone else. But good. Better than anything he's felt in his short life.

Credence is dimly aware of being drawn to Percival, curled into his arms. He buries his face into his neck, breathing him in. He feels at ease in a way he hasn't in months, years, ensconced in Percival's arms, but another attack comes on. He tries to hold it back, but can't. Coughs wrack his body and red spatters onto the white rumpled sheets, as he turns away. Tears prick at his eyes. He's ruined the sheets, and ruined the moment. Percival's cold hand rubs over his back, soothing.

'You're dying.' He says it as matter of fact as he had you're cold.

'Yes.' Credence says. 'But I don't want to. I'm scared.' He shifts so that he can see Percival, but still be wrapped in his embrace. He whispers, 'It isn't fair.'

'You don't have to die.' His voice is nearly swallowed by the darkness, but Credence hears him.

'I don't understand,' Credence says, but he does. Oh, he understands. Percival had said, when he was inside him, that he could save Credence. And Credence knows it wasn't just something to say while they were making love. Knows it even before Percival smiles, fangs gleaming in the low light. Credence runs his thumb along one, the point catching his skin. Blood bubbles up and Percival sucks it into his mouth. Credence gasps.

He thinks he should run from this man, this devil. But Percival doesn't look like damnation. Quite the opposite. Percival releases his thumb, kisses it gently. He takes Credence's face in his hands and says, 'Now, Credence, I'm going to give you the choice I never had.'

**Author's Note:**

> Come [find me on tumblr @gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) :) 
> 
> OK, OK, that ending is such a tease, I know. (And I borrowed that final quote from Interview With the Vampire). My original idea was a series of fics set in each decade of their lives together from when Credence is first turned in 1926 and every ten years until the present. But that's a lot of writing! So, I'm not sure if I'll ever do that or some other kind of follow up with just newly turned Credence. I've got a lot on my plate, though, so no promises.
> 
> I didn't do as much research this time (*gasp*) because this has been languishing since February and I just wanted the damn thing done. (Was inspired to finally finish it by a terrible cough I can't shake, of all things. Ha.) That's why I'm vague on some details. ;) And Graves smuggled the brandy using his vampire powers, I guess. Ha.


End file.
